Pacing
by Thistle of Liberty
Summary: -Ellery Queen- Ellery's pacing, Inspector Queen is watching. The Inspector's POV. Mild spanking.


_I do not own these characters, nor do I own the quote below, that's why it's a quote, really. _

_Warning: This story contains mild CP, i.e. spankning, so if you don't like that, don't read. _

"_It was the kind of problem which Ellery's thinking apparatus, against all the protests of his body, cannot let alone. For forty-six hours he lived in his own head, fasting and sleepless, ceaselessly pacing the treadmill of the Queen apartment floor. In the forty-seventh hour Inspector Queen took him forcibly by the arm and put him to bed.  
"I thought so", said the Inspector, "Over a hundred and one. What hurts, son?"  
"My whole existence", mumbled Ellery; and he submitted to aspirins, and ice bag, and a rare steak broiled in butter.  
In the middle of the steak he shouted like a madman and clawed at the telephone." _

* * *

**5.56 PM 8.22.1930  
**He's pacing again. I look up from my paper to observe him. The familiar faraway look is in his eyes and his hands clutch each other. He's biting his lips and mumbling softly to himself. I watch for a few more moments. He's clearly agitated, and I long to comfort him, but I force myself to realize that he is clearly caught up in some abstract logical reasoning and that my intervention would be far from welcome. That, however, doesn't mean that I won't be watching.

**10.34 PM 8.22.1930  
**It's getting late and Ellery shows no sign of stopping his infernal pondering. He's grown paler and the lines of worry are more clearly carved into his face. It still hurts, after so many years, to see him in his moments of distress. And yet, it is always then that I watch him the most closely.

**7.28 AM 8.23.1930  
**I dress hoping to find Ellery in bed. Unlikely as it may be, the boy might have caught hold of his senses and actually accepted the fact that he's human. I often wonder whether it wouldn't be better to just resort to giving him a bed time rather than letting him wander around in the dead of night as he sees fit. I doubt I'd have the energy to enforce it, though; he's always been an irregular sleeper, no matter the effort on my part. I finish tying my tie just as I enter the living room. Ellery's there, still pacing.

**6.17 PM 8.23.1930**  
The boy's still pacing. Returning from work I find him as I left him, though he has moved to his study. I doubt he notices my entrance and for a moment I contemplate interrupting his thoughts, but I decide that it'll do more harm than good. His logical games have always interested him more than what I would term as quite healthy. On the other hand, I have to say it's a more pleasant obsession than many other I can think of.

**7.26 PM 8.23.1930**  
I'm called away before I have time to eat dinner. A shooting in the other end of town. As I leave I throw a glance into El's study only to see him roughly pounding his desk with his fist. Poor lad. I vow to see to him once I get home, since there is no time now.

**9.48 AM 8.24.1930  
**I don't return home until the following mid-morning, far too exhausted to pay any mind to my earlier promise. I don't even notice whether my son is up or not as I cross the living room and enter my bed room as quickly as possible. I undress and literary throw myself on the bed. I only have a few hours before I need to be back at the station, and I want to make the most of them.

**1.05 PM 8.24.1930  
**When I wake up the flat is quiet. Maybe the boy caught hold of his senses, at last. I dress quickly and leave my bedroom with a slight sense of apprehension. Hopefully he's in bed. I peer into his study quickly. Still up.

"El!" I try, but of course he doesn't notice. "Ellery!"

Still no sign whatsoever that he hears me and I shake my head slowly. There's no time to see to him now, since I've already missed hours of work,

**7.39 PM 8.24.1930  
**When I get home the first thing I hear is a thumping noise. Not bothering to take off my coat I hurry into El's study, to see what on Earth the boy's up to this time. He's leaning his thin frame against a bookshelf, one arm stretched up over his head. The thumping sound comes from my son slowly pounding his forehead against the shelf. He's sweating and is very pale, except for his cheeks which are burning with feverish excitement. My temper flairs up. Despite my stern warnings and constant reminders he hardly ever shows any regard for his health. One would think that the prospect of ending up over my knee would be a sufficient incentive to eat and sleep properly, but as always with Ellery he doesn't behave as one would think.

I stalk up to him and grab his arm firmly, spinning him around so that he's facing me. He looks very much confused and peers at me uncomprehendingly for a moment before breaking into a whining protest.

"Dad! I'm busy..."

I ignore him. Partly because the remark hardly is worth a reply, and partly because I will probably start yelling at him if I open my mouth. I drag him into his bedroom and point to the bed with a stern expression.

"Dad, no! I'm busy..!"

This time I answer him, but not in words. Without loosening my hold on his bicep I give his behind three hard swats, eliciting a yelp from him. I then release my hold on his arm and he sighs deeply, giving me a suffering look. I usher him towards the bed and now he complies apathetically. I stay just long enough to make sure he is actually getting into the bed before hurrying off for a thermometer.

Once I return he's in the bed, a blanket haphazardly thrown over him. I automatically adjust it, gently tucking him in, leaving nothing uncovered but his worried face. I stick the thermometer in his mouth at the same time as I softly stroke his cheek. He just stares in reply to my smile.

"I thought so!" I exclaim as I check the thermometer. "Over a hundred and one. What hurts, son?"

"My whole existence..." he mumbles quietly. I shake my head. Poor lad. His mother was very much like him, the moments of dark depression and the bursts of manic energy. But she at least knew how to take care of herself. She had to, seeing as her aloof parents never did it for her. She had money, class and education, everything it seemed, but I soon realized that her childhood had been devoid of something as vital as human warmth. Ellery, on the other hand, has never had to look out for himself. I've always been there; ready to catch him if he fall or straighten him up if he stumbles. Though I have to admit he hasn't always appreciated it.

Sighing and shaking my head I leave him, going to the kitchen to fetch an ice bag and some aspirins for his fever. I bring them to him, knowing fully well that he will probably resist my attempts at making him better. I ignore his overly dramatic sigh of suffering and force the aspirins into him. When I try to place the ice bag on his brow though, he recoils and glares at me. Not very effectively, he's never learned how to use those eyes of his for anything but looking adorable.

"You have a fever, boy", I snap at him, not all too kindly, "and it's entirely your own fault. You'll do as you're told, or I promise you'll regret it."

He makes a whining sound, apparently too tired to even argue coherently. Silly child, to wear himself out like that. I quickly go through the recent cases he's been involved in, wanting to know what's agitated him so. There has been nothing particularly violent or cruel, so that isn't the problem. A purely logical problem, then. Something he can't figure out. Like those widows. That has to be it. How was the old woman poisoned without anything being given to her that contained poison? An interesting enough problem, but hardly anything to lose his health over. The woman was dead, and nothing could change that.

After sternly warning him to remain in bed with the ice bag on his forehead I leave to telephone the lunch restaurant 'cross the street for some food for us. Steak, since he's always had a liking for it and since he needs the nutrition. Waiting for it I chop up some vegetables and fruits, deciding that steak is hardly enough for his only meal in two days. Once the meat's arrived with a scrawny looking teenaged delivery boy I load the food up onto two plates and bring them into El's bedroom.

He's obeyed my instruction and it's obvious that he has calmed down some. His face is still un-naturally pale but the bright red of his cheeks has faded into a soft pink. I bring a chair over to his bedside and he sits up a little, accepting the plate I hand him without any protest. He doesn't eat, though. I glare at him encouragingly and he grimaces at me.

"I'm not hungry, dad", he complains. I raise my eyebrows.

"You haven't eaten in two days", I remind him, "Of course you're hungry."

"No, really, I'm not", he insists, trying to sound convincing. Why won't he eat? It's nonsense that he's not hungry; even Ellery is hungry after two days fasting. Probably some neurotic way of punishing himself for not solving the problem.

"You're eating", I inform him. Sometimes I humor him, allowing him to do as he pleases or argue with me, giving him the sense of having a choice. Of course, in the end, I'm the one who decides. He really isn't much more than a child. Twenty-four, soon twenty-five. He's brilliant, no doubt about that, but he can't for the life of him take care of himself.

He sighs, but obeys, probably realizing that he'll be punished otherwise, and still end up doing what I want him to do. He starts eating slowly, spending more time shoving the food around than actually putting it in his mouth. Then suddenly he stiffens, his hand holding the fork halfway to his mouth with a carrot-slice impaled on it.

"Of course!" he then shouts, moments afterwards and throws the fork down onto the plate with a ringing crash. He pushes the plate into my hands, and I'm far too surprised to even consider not taking it. He leaps out of bed and speeds over to the telephone on his desk, grabbing it with childlike eagerness and dials a number with fumbling fingers.

Mr. Strake, I hear him greet the recipient of his call. The lawyer of the dead old woman, I recall. He yells at him to meet him at the Hood house, the scene of the crime, immediately. Then he hangs up. He turns to me with a triumphant smile illuminating his still sickly-looking face. His smile fades as he sees my expression, one of stern disapproval. Instead he instantly takes on the puppy-look he's so good at.

"Dad, please", he pleads, "I've solved it! I'll come right back here as soon as I'm done over there. It'll only be half an hour, an hour at the very most."

I consider telling him no, refusing to let him out of bed and keeping him there. But of course I yield to his pleading eyes, as I always do. I can't refuse that damn boy anything. I give him a slight nod and he almost squeals with delight. He stops himself though, trying to maintain his mature posture. I cannot help but smile at his antics.

"You have an hour and a half to be back here", I warn him, "anything beyond that and you're in serious trouble."

He nods seriously, though his serene countenance is ruined by his ecstatic smile. Even though his obsession with his logical problems brings him more trouble than any other thing he does, they also bring him more happiness. He scoots out of the room, grabbing a jacket at random on his way out and almost throws himself out the door.

**9.37 PM 8.24.1930  
**Ellery returns still smiling.

"It was the thermometer", he says by way of greeting, "Can you imagine that, the thermometer?"

"You're not making any sense, son", I inform him benevolently. He smiles, a trifle apologetically, and starts explaining as he takes off his jacket.

"You know how that old woman was poisoned, though there seemingly wasn't any way the poison could have been administered?" he asks rhetorically. I nod. "Well, it seems that it was her doctor, Strake, who poisoned her by coating the thermometer with poison before he took her temperature. Rather ingenious, don't you think?"

"Very", I reply soothingly, "Now off to bed."

"But dad!" he protests, "I just got home!"

"Don't think I'll have a problem taking you over my knee just 'cause you have a fever, son", I warn him. Maybe I'm overreacting a little, but I need to get it through his thick skull that he can't endanger himself. And that if I tell him to go bed he does so. He constantly complains that he is an adult, that I can't order him around, that I have no authority over him. I do though, and he knows it.

He rolls his eyes but obeys, undressing quickly before pulling on pajama pants and creeping into bed. I tuck him in, something he only allows me to do when he's sick, exhausted or depressed.

"You'll stay home tomorrow, resting", I tell him, "and you'll go to bed early. Then we'll see. All right?"

"Yes, dad", he replies meekly. Maybe he's worse off than I thought. I stroke a lock of hair from his face and pat his cheek softly.

"I should punish you."

El winces at that. He abhors all sorts of punishment, even when it's really excessively lenient. Not that I _am_ lenient very often; if you ask Ellery I'm insanely strict, but if you ask me I'm just fair.

"But, dad…", he whines.

"We've talked about this sort of un-healthy behavior, haven't we?" I remind him, "You knew very well I wouldn't approve. Even if I for various reasons didn't stop you. As you like to point out, you're an adult. You _are_ old enough to know that when you do stuff like this there's likely going to be consequences."

"Sure, dad", he replies, "but it was a _case_."

He says it as if it makes all the difference in the world. He should have realized by now that I put his well-being above any case in the world.

"That doesn't matter", I tell him sternly.

"I don't want to be punished", he mutters sulkily. "You can't punish me for doing my job. It's not fair."

"There is nothing", I snapped, "that stops you from sleeping and eating. The woman was, is, dead, boy, and you couldn't change that. Getting yourself sick wouldn't solve the case."

He smiles at that.

"It did, though", he says, "That's how I thought of it."

I feel a sudden desire to slap him, or twist his ear or something. Thick headed brat, that's what he is.

"You really have no sense of self-preservation, do you?" I ask him exasperatedly.

He looks a bit confused, seemingly completely uncomprehending of how his comment might have angered me. I shake my head at him and he keeps looking confused. Before he has time to say anything else, that would also probably make me angry, I lean forwards and place a kiss on his brow.

"Sleep well, son", I say softly and he murmurs something unintelligible in reply. I get up and leave him to his sorely needed rest. Just as I'm about to exit he call out.

"Dad!" I turn to him, and he looks at me almost shyly, "No punishment?"

"No punishment", I confirm with a slight smile. He smiles back at me and before I leave I see him closing his eyes, apparently deciding that there is no point in fighting sleep any longer. Good lad.

* * *

_A/N: First, some notes on the story. It's basically a fill out for a very short story called "The Three Widows". Those lines at the top are rather interesting, no? So I wrote a little thing out of them. Also, El's age. The story is copyrighted in 1949 and assuming that's when the story takes place Ellery would be 44, which he hardly seems. So I assume the story takes place earlier, and that the book is merely written later. Because quite frankly, El hardly ages at all through the books… He's born in '05 and is still young in the books written in the '50s._

_And then, on to other things… I am working on finisinhg a couple of unfinished stories, this one being the first. Also, there's "How To Deal With Guilt", which I hope to finish within a few weeks. Then there's a lighthearted PotC-ficlet, non-CP, featuring Jack and Teague which I'm going to finish. "The Search for Excalibur", I'm afraid, won't be finished for quite some time… Don't expect any up-dates in the immediate future._

_Anyways, thank you for reading and please leave a review_.


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